


Rage

by DisplacedKey



Series: Diarmute Week 2020 [7]
Category: Pilgrimage (2017)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Gen, Introspection, Religious Fanaticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisplacedKey/pseuds/DisplacedKey
Summary: Diarmuid loses everything and something in him breaks.
Series: Diarmute Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673284
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Rage

The Mute walked toward certain death and took Diarmuid’s heart with him, leaving an aching wound behind. Icy water clung to his habit, dragging him down, down, down. Now more than ever, he felt as though he were having a nightmare. There was no way the Mute had truly left, that he had walked to his death in front of Diarmuid’s eyes. It was impossible that he had lost the Mute. After everything else that had happened, this was what Diarmuid simply could not accept.

Arrows flew. Diarmuid watched the life drain from Cathal’s eyes and something in him died, too. It was too much. It was all too much. To have lost everything—his home, his family, his trust in humanity—in the span of a few days cracked Diarmuid’s soul into pieces. Something hollow, angry, and grieving took its place. And then—

“Do you hear them? Do you hear the bells?”

Diarmuid felt sick. _Is that what you think bells are?_

Geraldus continued to speak, ranting about death and wrath and nonbelievers, but Diarmuid was only half-listening; his words had melted together with the clashing swords into a cacophony of death and hatred. Diarmuid couldn’t understand why anyone would be so fervent about the thought of more bloodshed. Hadn’t Geraldus suffered enough? Or was it different when it was someone else’s life at risk?

Diarmuid looked out over the waves to the now-miniscule silhouettes on the beach. Geraldus’s fingers brushed the soaked leather of Diarmuid’s bag and Ciarán’s voice echoed in Diarmuid’s head.

_“Peace must be grown, nurtured. And that...that is beyond the reach of most men.”_

New life surged through Diarmuid, rage burning hot on his tongue. He grabbed the relic—that cursed, blood-soaked rock—and prepared to throw it into the damned water where it belonged. It wouldn’t bring back his brothers or the Mute, but it didn’t matter; Diarmuid would no longer aid this warmongering farce of a pilgrimage.

Geraldus’s fingers around his neck shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise as it did. Diarmuid didn’t think the man had it in him; he was the type who sent others to do his dirty work. Diarmuid’s rebellion must have been the final straw. Whatever vestiges of sanity or restraint the man had been holding onto were gone; his eyes glowed with an almost fevered righteousness. _Finally,_ he seemed to be thinking. _Finally, I have an excuse._

Diarmuid planted his foot in the man’s torso and kicked as hard as he could, sending the man and the relic overboard in one fell swoop. A flurry of emotions passed through Diarmuid’s head, too fast and too muddled for him to identify. Grief? Fear? Not remorse—Diarmuid didn’t enjoy the thought of killing, knew it would likely haunt him in his dreams for years to come, but he would choose himself over that heartless coward every time.

The boat rocked underneath Diarmuid’s feet and the breeze kissed his cheeks. The figures on the beach weren’t moving anymore. His brothers were dead. The relic was lost. Diarmuid...he had become something new. He didn’t know what. He could only hope the Mute would recognize him.

“Where to now?”

Diarmuid swallowed and his throat burned. “Back.”

**Author's Note:**

> I fucking hate Geraldus, can you tell?   
> ====  
> The seventh and final entry for @pilgrimagesource's Diarmute Week. The prompt: Rebirth.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at https://iwillcarryit.tumblr.com/


End file.
